Allan and Love, Allan and Family
by KeepingAmused
Summary: Allan's thoughts. Hints of RobMarian WillDjaq.
1. Allan and Love

_Oh, lonely wanderer...You trip in the dirt. Curse at the hurt,_

Something something. Something.

I can't remember the words. Shame. My Mum used to sing it me to me and Tom, when we were small enough to sit on each of her knees, she'd lick a cloth and wipe the dirt off our faces. And she'd sing those words. Funny, how I never understood that tune, until today.

I'd run through the streets of Rochdale, sticking my hands into an old fart's pocket. Then, if I was lucky, I'd pull out a silver coin or two. Or a dirty rag. Or, if I was seriously unlucky, a bruise and a yank on my ear. Those clouts would hurt like hell. But, it was worth it. Risking yourself for a exciting glug of grown-up ale behind the barn door, you and your mates, in a crazy dream, thinking all the pretty women of the world would bow to our feet - then spewing in a bush.

But, we grow up, eh?

Everything we do is a choice, and I chose to grow up. Robin loves saying that line; everything is a choice, everything we do. Honestly. He loves it. Tom, unfortunately, grew into an idiot who was strangled to death by a rope. Could've been me. But it wasn't.

So I hand out those silver coins I once pocketed to a lonely farmer, who hasn't tasted any meade in his life. I find it hard to understand, as I watch him scatter some seeds or whatever onto the ground. Even me, sovereign of Sherwood, couldn't tie myself down to a patch of chickens. I always wondered how a man could do it. Why? Why would you want to live a life like that? Even if I was starving to the bone, I couldn't.

But I see him laughin' at his kids. Skinny buggers, they are. But they're happy. And it confuses me. The look in the bloke's eyes, as his wife picks up a gnat and sticks him on her knee, licking a cloth and wiping the muck off their face.

It all makes sense.

Guess it's that feeling you get when you see the pretty girl, who helped pick you up when you were spewing in the bush, running out of her house with tears in her eyes. You can hear screaming, and all you want to do is cry, too. Can't explain it. It kind of – rips your insides.

Everything we do is a choice. Why make such stupid choices, eh? Not being funny, but it all adds up. We do it out of love.

I hate the word. It makes my stomach twist. Mum used to say, I'd fall in love some day. Maybe I did. I'd like to, actually. Maybe life would make more sense if I didn't just wander around, seeing people make puppy-eyes at each other. It's like when you see a drunk git, and you wonder what it's like to be so high. You don't understand...'til you have a sip...And then you spew, obviously.

_Oh lonely wanderer, you trip in the dirt..._something something. I should've really learned the words.

I can see Robin running around like a wild pig, squeaking after Marian. He makes a complete arse out of himself, but he's so boozed up on love, it manages to make sense in that little head of his. He's lost it. He's crazy. Running past knives and guards and God-knows-what... just give his bird a kiss.

I see the way John mooches around in the bushes, spying on his kid. All he's doing is gawping at them. But you can see how happy he is, just staring at Alice and Little Pipsqueak John. It cheers him up for the rest of day and he sits scratching his staff in the corner of the camp, still chuckling like a sap.

People in love are hilarious. It's like an _excuse _to be an idiot. Like, when Djaq does a special squeak if Will's been punctured with an arrow and she flaps around like it's the bloody apocalypse. I can see Will trying to hold down a smile every time she turns around, even through the awful pain.

I understand. Sort of.

I suppose I need to fall in love, to make it all really clear. But, for now, I'm just a lonely wanderer...something something something...


	2. Allan and Family

So, there she is. About the size of a small sack of flour, like tiny, curled up in my arms. I can't even move, in case I break the little tot – which won't sound great, _Allan A Dale stabbed by angry mother from Nettlestone_. It's put me on edge that the babe is so fragile, but you'd think she'd simply bounce off the ground, being so squidgy and...doughy. And her eyes are screwed up like she's about to cry.

And there it goes. Hell - I think the whole village can hear her. That noise made me jump, I can tell you.

The manservant isn't all too pleased and starts clucking away at me about being 'gentle' and whatever. Like _he_ knows how to deal with kids? See, she's still screaming her weeny lungs out, but this time her body's being flapped about by Much's wild hand-motions. And, guess what? Now she's being _sang_ to. Poor kid. If I were her, I'd be silent and pretend to snooze, just to end the torture.

Will's got the right idea. Only the Lord knows how that wood-worshipper has such a knack with little ones. He's just holding her there, smiling like the goon we turn into when a babe falls into our arms. I don't actually understand why we've been left babysitting when the mother's having a conversation with Robin in the next room, but when the kid's all quiet and hushed up like now, I can't complain. She's beautiful, I admit.

One day she's going to be running around, dirtying her frilly whites and yelling at the top of her lungs, whilst all her older brothers chase her around the village. Those are the kids that make me laugh. You can see how crazy girls are when they're that raw and young. I bet every noblewoman's just as wild under all lace and obedience, (I'd love to see our Lady Marian tying ribbons onto branches and frolicking around the trees). And it's a shame when the girls reach that age, the time when they happen to be growing boobs and eyelashes, that they're told to wear clean frocks and shy away with the washing. Typical.

You've got Djaq over here who is the face of insolence, I tell you. Dressing like a man? Cutting off her hair? Living with _us_ lot? Somehow, I still can't call her one of the lads, which is probably due to that hint of 'woman' she just can't cut off. It's permanent and she tries to run away from it, but we can all see her quickly gulp and curse in jibberish Arabic when it's her turn to hold the babe. Her hands automatically cradle the tot's head as if by witchcraft and it terrifies her, knowing that she can be a mother, like she's scared to love this little kid because it comes so_ naturally_ to her. Or something like that. That little moment passes under a second and she immediately shakes it off and pretends to be the unfeeling doctor, inspecting the kid's ears and bum and stuff. Typical.

William is just staring at our Saracen natural mother like she's grown a second nose or something. I guess, in his wooden little head, he's imagining Djaq holding his own dreamed-of family. C'mon, he _needs_ to stop gawping at her or he's going to give his little secret away...Not that she doesn't have a thing for our carpenter, too. But, our Djaq's always been great at hiding her emotions. Will, not so much. But, then again, he's always wearing that serious 'my-axe-is-ready' face, so nobody really suspects what he's thinking, because it always looks like serious business running through his head. But all _I _see is a pair of brown hands reflected in his eyes. Typical.

The farmer's wife's come along to check up on the babe. Suddenly, it's like the Virgin Mary has dropped in for a banquet and everybody crams into this tiny hut to coo at the little thing. Not that I'm complaining, considering most of the audience are the fair maidens of Nettlestone village, queueing up and brushing their petticoats around me...

I've just made some conversation with a blonde, who's sweetly asking me if I'm the dad. Me? Well, not being funny, but I'm _obviously_ not. My method of shutting up a screaming kid is by holding the crying thing upside down. But, now that the babe's back in my arms, gurgling and stuff, I kind of look like the father. Not bad.

Robin calls. We're off to deliver at Clun, next. I have to pass the babe along to the next pair of eager hands, making sure the lads aren't watching while I plant a kiss on her button nose, and whispering 'bye, kid' before jogging through the door.

That's another child born to that family, lucky enough to reach six months. Hopefully, she'll be able to grow into those frilly white frocks and run around in the dirt while her brothers chase her, eh? As I jog past the window with Will, I can see the mother praying in her bedchamber. Not being funny, but she knows that the coins we just spared her, to buy blankets for her babe, are probably going to end up keeping the Sheriff's hands warm.

Typical.


End file.
